Hello Again
by PandaFire McMango
Summary: Blaine comes to visit Kurt for the first time in New York. They do their best to make up for lost time. Basically a giant helping of fluff and sexy fun-times, as Kurt and Blaine are so fond of having.


_Again, I am aware how absurdly long this is, and I apologize. Sometimes a scenario gets into my head and I just have to ride it out until it's all gone. I'm not usually a future-fic kind of person, but I figure a good year ahead isn't that drastic. Please read, review, and enjoy!_

_Also: I go to school in New York, but not at NYU, so this story is full of little shoutouts to my NYU boy who loves his Brittany dorm :)  
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><p><em>11:57.<em>

Blaine should be here by now.

_11:58_.

His bus pulled in at 11:30, he took a taxi from JFK because his father might not be a perfect parent but he certainly shoves enough dough at his son to let him do ridiculous things like taking taxis in New York, and so he should be here by now.

_11:59_.

Blaine is totally dead and lying in a gutter and the _Law and Order_ cast is going to be knocking on Kurt's door any second asking if he knows of some Mafia boss who might want Blaine out of the way and oh my god where the fuck is Kurt's boyfriend, he should really fucking be here by—

_Bzzzzzz._

Kurt's phone vibrates and he jumps about four feet in the air. His NYU dorm room is not that tiny, but it certainly is messy (neither he nor Caleb have been putting their clothes away recently, because the closets have mold in them and the drawers smell like spiderwebs and it's too gross) and he's been pacing for the last half hour, waiting for Blaine to arrive already, and so when he finally gets the first text since Blaine told him he was catching a cab from the airport, it's such a huge deal that after all the buildup and the claustrophobia and the worrying he just has to spaz out a little bit before answering. Kurt doubles over and takes a couple deep breaths—_one Judy Garland, two Judy Garland_—then stands back up, adjusts his hair, and calmly looks at the text from _B_.

_Hey, I'm right outside :)_

Kurt bites his lip and tries so very desperately to calm down. It's the first Thursday of November and he hasn't been within hundreds of miles of Blaine for two months now; it's been weeks and weeks of Skyping and smiling and touching the computer screen, wishing it were soft and a little stubbly like the face looking back at him from it; weeks of phone calls every Sunday, telling Blaine about how much he loved his new friends and the city, how fabulous everything was, and occasionally how lonely and frightened he got, how totally overwhelmed and incompetent New York made him feel; weeks of stroking his own wrist in bed at night, wishing the fingers were Blaine's, wanting more than anything to feel his boyfriend's hands on him and his voice in his ear and his breath on his lips. It's been so so long, and Kurt is literally aching with how much he wants to see Blaine, and this visit is a big goddamn deal, and now Blaine is _right outside :)_

So what is Kurt still doing inside?

He turns on his heel and charges through the door, practically leaving skidmarks on the floor as he heads at top-speed to the elevators. Brittany is one of the nicer NYU freshman dorms, and the weather outside is gorgeous right now, crisp and snapping with cold like a proper New York autumn does as it turns into winter. Kurt hits the DOWN button at the elevator and stands there tapping his foot, arms crossed, fighting the urge to dash back into his room and change his outfit for the thirtieth time. When the elevator comes, it's blissfully empty; Kurt doesn't want an audience for these last few moments of freak-out before he sees Blaine.

The whole NYU thing has been such a strange and intense ride for Kurt. After being turned down by NYADA—and watching Rachel try and fail to hide her euphoria at being accepted while in his presence—applying to NYU felt like second place, a pity prize for the runner-up who couldn't make the grade. He'd been excited by the acceptance, of course, but not until he actually flew into the city with his dad and Carole (Finn had been dropped off at Ohio State the week earlier) did it hit him, like a big yellow taxicab, that he was in New York after all, that just because NYADA was out there somewhere in the city with its doors closed to him didn't mean that a million other doors weren't bursting open all at once. Kissing Carole goodbye, hugged tight in his father's arms one last time, Blaine's goodbye letter folded into a thick square and securely nestled in his pocket, Kurt had decided that plans were still on track—he'd take New York by storm, no matter what school he was at, and he'd do it without a hair or an asymmetrical sweater-shrug out of place.

As Kurt rides the elevator down to the street, he adjusts his hair a final time in the mirror and tries to fight the edge of panic that's been curbing his tidal wave of excitement all morning. He'd wanted Blaine to come visit and find him in a whirl of glory—scores of perfect-quirky friends, a list of theatrical extracurriculars a mile long, endless stories of adventures around the city. Instead, he has an ensemble role in a student-directed production of _Grease_, a few dressed-up and polished recitations of fun nights out that are about fifteen percent embellishment and twenty percent retrospective reimagining, and a solid core of people he loves who, though all fun and interesting in their own way, tend to hedge more towards geeky than glamorous. It feels—well, a little too mainstream for Kurt's tastes, and he so desperately wants to impress Blaine, to show him how great his boyfriend is, to make him proud of Kurt like Kurt is of him and to prove once and for all that he was always better than Lima, better than slushies in the face and bullies in varsity jackets. With anyone else, this would constitute a major crisis, and Kurt probably would have faked an incredibly contagious vascular disease at the last minute. But this is Blaine, Blaine whom he loves, whom he trusts, who makes Kurt feel that even his worst flaws are wonderful.

And if Blaine can do all that for him, Kurt can certainly man up and let his boyfriend visit him in his non-perfect, non-magical, totally realistic and normal life.

The doors open and Kurt heads out into the lobby, past the security guard (today it's Kirby, that's good, he likes Kurt because Kurt gives him Vogue when he's done reading it), through the double doors and out into the midday sunshine. It's chilly, and the cold air immediately bites at the bare skin on Kurt's lower arms, but he doesn't care because Blaine is right outside, or at least he should be. Kurt's heart begins to pound with anxiety as he looks up the street and sees no dapper black-haired boy, and nothing here in front of Brittany, and down the street there's only—

_Blaine_.

He's standing by the curb, one compact travel bag by his feet, looking so much more fresh and clean than anyone has a right to after a short but hellish plane trip. Not only is he put together but he's _gorgeous_ in a pair of unexpectedly loose jeans and a pullover sweater with a short zipper at the neck and his sunglasses, those ridiculous angular pink sunglasses that make him look like the biggest dork in the world but that he loves like they're his childhood pet, perched jauntily on his face. When he catches sight of Kurt, Blaine straightens up and lifts his glasses and there are his eyes, wrinkled in the corners and shining so brightly they dim the sun, locking onto Kurt like magnets meeting in a tingling embrace of north and south poles.

Kurt isn't quite sure what happens in the next two seconds, but after they've passed he finds himself in Blaine's arms, wrapped so closely and firmly against his boyfriend's chest that he can feel Blaine's heartbeat thundering through his ribcage (_or is that Kurt's own heartbeat?_) and his hands are clutching at Blaine, one buried in his hair (_there's no gel in it, that's pretty fucking new)_ and the other grabbing a fistful of sweater so that he can pull Blaine tighter against him, push their bodies together until there's nothing but them them them.

Kurt has been a part of some very good hugs in his time, even a few great hugs; this one, it must be admitted, beats them all out by a long shot.

They hang onto each other a long time, and when they pull apart Kurt isn't the least bit ashamed that his eyes are wet and his lips are trembling a little, especially not after he reaches up and removes Blaine's sunglasses to find that Blaine's half-crying too. They look at each other a moment, eyes drinking in this wonderfully delicious _realness_ that no video-chatting or phone call can replace, and then Blaine's hand is on Kurt's cheek, even warmer and softer than he remembers, and their lips are together—not passionate, no tongues or teeth or anything else exciting, but still one of the best kisses of Kurt's life, the simple touch of Blaine's mouth to his while Blaine's smell of aftershave (_he still uses that pine-scented stuff, I guess the boy will never learn_) and ironed clothes and chapstick and simple unadulterated Blaineness drifts into Kurt's nose and makes his head go fuzzy. Kissing in public here isn't scary like it is in Ohio: somehow Blaine has picked up on it in the thirty minutes he's been in the city, but Kurt has had two months to figure out that New York is not a place that cares what you do out in the open, so long as no one bleeds or has their mother insulted too harshly.

Blaine pulls back too soon—but then, forever is too soon—and smiles at Kurt so sweetly that Kurt kind of wants to pinch his rounded cheeks like a grandma. "Hey," he says softly.

"Hey," Kurt replies, and wow, his voice is super-high, what's up with that.

"Good to see you." Blaine's smile widens a little as he speaks. Kurt laughs and pulls Blaine in for another hug, molding every part of his body that he can to fit Blaine closer to him.

"You too," he whispers. Blaine cups Kurt's head with one hand and massages his lower back with the other, nuzzling his face into the curve of Kurt's neck. Kurt shivers and closes his eyes, taking it all in: the car horns from Broadway at the other end of the block, the wisps of warm manhole steam drifting up from the street and into his face, the feel of Blaine's skin against his, the cold shining of the sun overhead—god, it's all perfect, it really is.

(He probably owes some cosmic entity that doesn't really exist a huge stinking favor for this moment.)

"Okay, remember, you are not allowed to judge me. Like, seriously, you're not."

"Kurt, open the frigging door before I murder you."

"Oh, then where were you planning to stay? If I'm dead, I mean."

"I saw a guy sitting in a box on Second Avenue, I could crash with him."

"You're so charming, you probably could. I should just lock you out now, for spite."

"Kurt. Pretty pretty please?"

"Okay, okay, put the eyes away already." Kurt turns the handle and leads Blaine into his dorm room, flinching immediately at just how messy the place is. He'd planned to spend an entire day cleaning, he really did, but every time he rolled up his sleeves and got out the bottle of Mr. Clean X-Tra, he'd had a panic attack of impending-boyfriend-arrival nerves and had to do yoga and listen to whale song to calm down. As it is, the room isn't nearly as bad as it has been in previous days: Caleb's running clothes are in a _tidy_ heap by the end of his bed, and all of Kurt's clothing is meticulously stacked by color and style in little piles across his (unmade) bed and desk but not anywhere on the floor. Still, it's very obvious that two people live here without much regard for organization, and Kurt knows that Blaine, king of the hospital-corner bedsheets and the artfully hung closet items, has every right to call him out for being a slob.

"Kurt…Kurt, it's great," says Blaine with wide eyes, absently dropping his bag on the floor as he looks around the room. Caleb's side is strewn with running magazines and articles cut from fitness magazines, along with a large photo collage on a corkboard by his computer; Kurt is included there now, a couple shots of him and Caleb sitting in the sun in Union Square Park or posing with peace-fingers at a fraternity mixer. The two of them get along pretty well, hang out in the same group of friends, offer themselves up for talking if the other seems down; Kurt knows that a comfortable friendship with his roommate makes him lucky compared to a lot of other freshmen (the most recent horror story is from Mercedes, who spent twenty minutes ranting to him over the phone about her roommate's habit of drying her bras with Mercedes' hair dryer). Caleb's only got a couple posters, both of long-distance runners whose names Kurt can't remember; this is in stark contrast to Kurt, who has cheapo street-bought posters of Liza and Patti and Bernadette and Ethel hung all over the wall above his bed, each diva's name splashed across the poster like a dash of brightly colored paint. He's covered his desk with pretty trinkets, some from expeditions into the city (a Statue of Liberty saltshaker swiped from a Little Italy diner, a large plastic spoon that he found jammed between two books in a used bookstore) and some from home. Also, an added perk to having a room with a front window: as the day wears on, the sunlight angles in beautifully, and right now the barest scraps of sunbeams are peeking into the room. Kurt must admit, the room isn't as bad as it could be. In fact, Blaine's (kinda) right: it's (kinda) great.

"Seriously," Blaine continues, and now he turns to face Kurt with a big grin. "This is even better than it looked over Skype. I can't believe you really live here. I can't believe…I can't believe _I'm_ here."

"I know," says Kurt with a happy sigh, and they smile goofily at each other until a loud car horn from the street jolts them back into real time. Blaine shakes himself and looks around again, his eyes roaming over all of Kurt's little odds and ends, his lifetime accumulation of Lima and New York thingamabobs. He catches sight of something and a smirk blooms on his face as he walks over to Kurt's desk and picks up a goofy Valentine's Day plushie, two dogs smooching on a little pillow. The instant it is disturbed from its little nook, the hell-cry sounds—the puppies' little I-love-you kissy noises reduced by time and aged batteries to a croaky, unintelligible squeal. Blaine gives it a look of horror, then turns to Kurt with an eyebrow raised.

"Really? You really, actually brought this here with you? You spent _money_ on this thing?"

"Hey," Kurt protests, going over to Blaine and snatching the Puppy Love ™ plushie out of his hands. "I thought it was cute, remember?"

"No, you thought it was tacky. And until a certain blonde closet-queen decided to tell me what a jerk I was being, I was the one who thought it was adorable," Blaine says wryly, watching as Kurt gently puts Puppy Love back down on the desk. He reaches out and runs a hand over Kurt's shoulder blade, sending a shiver down the length of Kurt's spine. "But I suppose it is kind of sweet that you bought it. Sweet and a huge waste of your money."

"Has anyone ever told you that you have a massive capacity for bitterness?" Kurt asks, flashing Blaine a little bitch-please look as he moves back from the desk and stands in the center of the room. He spreads his arms wide and really smiles now, the tiniest percentage of the joy inside him shining through and lighting up his delicate face like an environmentally-friendly lightbulb. "C'mon, Blaine, everything is awesome! You're in New York. We're here together, and I can't…God, I've missed you too much. _So_ much, it's not even okay how much I've needed you here. Because it's so incredible, and it's so crazy and amazing, but as much as it is, it doesn't really become magic without you. You're magic for me, Blaine."

Blaine basically crumbles right in front of Kurt, a look of total and complete adoration spreading over his face and his shoulders slumping as he drops any kind of outer screen, all of his confidence and showmanship melting away in the heat of Kurt and how much Kurt wants him, loves him, can't contain his happiness at being in the same room with him. Kurt knows that he might have just set a World Record for sappiness, but damn it, They wouldn't turn it into a cliché if it weren't how real life is sometimes.

"I've missed you too," Blaine whispers. They're looking at each other from across the room, both of them glowing a little in the sun through the window, and all of a sudden, a lightning-bolt thought breaks through Kurt's my-boyfriend-is-visiting-lalala haze of happiness and he realizes—_Blaine is in his room_. He's alone with Blaine for the first time in months, and the door has a lock on it and Caleb has very thoughtfully offered to train for track pretty much all day, and there's no Carole or Dad or Finn to walk in on them, no Blaine's mom and dad to show up unexpectedly after another long overseas vacation. Blaine is in his room, and more importantly, Blaine's body is in his room.

Kurt doesn't waste another second on the hand-holding and meaningless chatter and sweet little looks they've been indulging in for the last fifteen minutes. He crosses the four feet of floor between them and grabs Blaine's face, kisses him with such ferocity that Blaine sways backwards and has to brace himself on the desk to keep from collapsing to the floor. Kurt can feel Blaine's legs shaking against his, can feel all the strength emptying out of his boyfriend's limbs as Kurt kisses him with everything he has, his tongue and teeth and lips moving with muscle memory and at the same time improvising new, wonderful ways to get under Blaine's skin and make him moan and pant into Kurt's mouth. Strong arms move around Kurt and Blaine pulls himself up, recovers from Kurt's makeout-ambush and now starts his own half of the dance as he kisses Kurt back hard and strong and shoves one hand deep in Kurt's back pocket and splays the other flat against Kurt's back so that there is not a single square millimeter of air between them.

_Holy good goddamn it has been way way way too long since the last time._

Kurt's head is getting lighter and lighter, he feels like he's floating, but simultaneously heat is rising from every part of this embrace and it keeps him firmly tied to the ground, tied to Blaine, tied to the feel of Blaine's stubble scraping against his upper lip and the hard muscle of Blaine's shoulders twisting underneath his hands and the noises Blaine makes that shoot right through to Kurt's heart—also the ones that hit Kurt a little lower and burn with a devastating pulse between his legs. Suddenly it's not enough to just stand there against the desk and kiss Blaine, it's just not enough contact, and Kurt reaches around Blaine's waist and shoves all his crap off the desk so that it tumbles to the floor and Puppy Love makes a noise like someone choking a dolphin, and with more grace than he could have expected of himself at a time like this he tips Blaine backwards and pulls his hips up onto the top of the desk. Blaine gasps and giggles as Kurt pushes him down onto his back and then hikes himself up onto the desk, where there's barely enough room for him to thread his legs through Blaine's and balance on the creaking wooden desktop, and maybe it can't bear the weight and maybe it can, but fuck it, Kurt doesn't care, he's too busy dropping down on top of Blaine and fitting their hips together and biting the spot about three inches below Blaine's ear that makes his boyfriend whine and squirm and clutch desperately at Kurt's ribs.

The desk groans and complains beneath them as they wrestle on it, wood that's probably been around since the sixties doing its best to support the passion of two boys who have been too far apart for far too long. Blaine is kind of giving in, letting Kurt take the lead here, because while he's been sitting at home with the same-old same-old, Kurt has been spinning through the newest and wildest of worlds, where everything is amazing and nothing is familiar, and right now he needs Blaine and the utter bone-deep familiarity of his touch and his taste and his sounds, needs him to help Kurt remember that just because his life is upside-down doesn't mean he and Blaine can't love each other with the same depth and totality of feeling that they've shared for so long. He presses Blaine into the desktop, catching up both his wrists and pulling them up over his head, looking down for a moment at the flushed and beautiful face that he's spent so long dreaming about, and then just _claiming_ him, sucking at his neck and letting his free hand stroke and roam and grasp at everything and grinding down his hips so that Blaine arches his back and fails miserably at not being way too loud, and Kurt is thrilled because Blaine is his and he's here for him and Kurt wants the world to know it.

Sooner or later the desk is going to give in, but that doesn't matter because Kurt is already giving in himself, getting caught up in this so strongly and swiftly that he feels like he might fall apart right then and there, and it's way way way too early for that, Kurt is going to make this _last_, dammit. They've waited too long for the first time in forever to be a quick explosion instead of the unbearably drawn out and excellent ache that he wants it to be, that he _deserves _it to be. Making an executive decision, Kurt wrenches himself up and off of Blaine, sliding off the desk, and Blaine sits up to give him an absolutely devastated look that lasts about a second before Kurt yanks Blaine off the desk and pulls him close for what might be the hottest kiss of their lives, or at least it feels that way, all hard breathing through their noses and tongues twisting and teeth nipping and hands hands hands everywhere and just _way too much, too too too much it's way too good_. Kurt's practically destroyed now, his entire body lit up like a switchboard, every nerve buzzing and giving up surges of pleasure and crackling with heat wherever Blaine is touching him, and he can barely stand because his hips are moving to a beat that he can't hear but that he can feel pounding through him like a bass drum in his groin and his stomach and his heart. Blaine feels so good, he feels so real and present and solid, and his hands are strong as they move over Kurt's back and grab fistfuls of the fabric at his waist.

Oh, that's right. They're still wearing all their clothes.

Down onto the bed, no more neat piles or color coordination, it's just kind of a giant tangle of limbs and clothing that they're trying to remove, and poor Blaine, Kurt wasn't really thinking about this particular scenario when he got dressed earlier and so he does have quite a few layers going on, but Blaine works at it like a champion and before long the last shred of clothing has been torn off and flung into some nowhere-land that is not where they are and now it's finally just—

_Them_.

"I love this room even more now."

"Yeah, I bet you do." Kurt can feel the vibration of his own voice on Blaine's bare chest. He snuggles in a little closer, rubbing his nose on the soft matted hair and running the tips of his fingers over Blaine's ribcage. Blaine pets Kurt's hair like he's a kitty, which should be weird but is actually incredibly nice. If Kurt could purr, he would.

The room is a disaster. For the last two hours, they've done pretty much everything within their power to enjoy its full romantic potential, and damn if they haven't succeeded really fucking thoroughly. Kurt's desk is completely cleared off, all his doodads and thingies lying trampled on the ground; all the clothes that had been picked up and carefully kept off the floor are also down there, rumpled and smudged and probably in desperate need of some heavy-duty spin cycling. Several low-hung posters have been pulled off the walls, Kurt and Caleb's bookbags have both been knocked over and spilled their contents everywhere, and there's a lamp that definitely going to need a new bulb, seeing as the old one shattered when they accidently sent the whole thing crashing onto the ground. Caleb's bed and desk are also looking pretty messed up, although they did try to mind their manners when they were on that side of the room—at least, with the amount of cognitive thinking that was going on at the time, which wasn't very much at all (hence why they were on Caleb's bed and desk in the first place), they'd made an effort to keep his stuff from getting too flurried.

Now, having sexed themselves out to the point of complete exhaustion, Kurt and Blaine are back in Kurt's bed, cuddled up together with Blaine on his back and Kurt lying with his head on Blaine's chest and their legs tied in a warm knot underneath the comforter. Blaine has his eyes closed as he continues to stroke the slightly-dried-but-still-sweaty hair at the back of Kurt's head, and after a minute or so of peaceful silence, he begins to hum very softly under his breath, a slow and gentle melody that Kurt doesn't recognize but immediately falls in love with.

"We should always wait for two months in between," Blaine muses lazily, interrupting his own little song. Kurt frowns and lifts his head to look Blaine in the eye.

"Excuse me? Did you just say what I think you said?"

"Well, I don't know about you, but I could definitely go for another round of _that_," Blaine says with a grin, and his gentle fingers in Kurt's hair suddenly tug a little, recalling the last and somewhat more heated time they occupied that particular spot. "I mean, I've never not had my mind blown by you, Kurt, but this was kind of like going to the moon and back."

Kurt rolls his eyes and pulls himself up so that he's hovering on his elbows directly above Blaine, staring down at his boyfriend's irritatingly charming face.

"Okay, first of all, too much more of _that_ and neither of us will be able to walk for another two months, let alone do anything else. And second, do you really think if I had my way I would have gone two months? One month? One _week_, without going to bed with you, even though you can be a moron sometimes?" Kurt snaps, trying to sound like a bitch but really just fawning over his boyfriend like the hopeless romantic he is. Blaine's smile widens and he reaches down to put his hands on Kurt's hips.

"A _sexy_ moron."

"You really think you're all that, don't you?"

"Only because you tell me I am. And because I am."

"Oh god, I knew it, I knew the gel would eventually fry your brain. Santana was right, intervention was and is desperately needed."

"Hey, I'm not wearing any gel now!"

"Because you're cutting back or because they wouldn't let you take the container on the plane?"

"…look, you can't make fun of me for my gel if I'm not wearing it. For whatever reason."

"In-ter-ven-tion, Blaine. It's a thing. Be prepared."

"Intervention for my hair, or intervention for my sexy sexy moron ways?"

"Both," Kurt groans and flops down on Blaine's chest with enough force that Blaine lets out a grunt of pain and tries to double up at the waist, only he can't because Kurt is lying on top of him. He glares at Kurt and pushes at his shoulders, attempting to get out from underneath, but Kurt goes limp and makes it impossible for Blaine to escape until Blaine plays dirty and digs Kurt in the side, right where he's the most ticklish, and soon they're thrashing around in the bed, tickling each other and laughing like maniacs, only coming to a halt when Blaine hooks a leg over Kurt's hip and pulls him in close for a kiss, swallowing the giggles in his mouth. Kurt closes his eyes and loses himself in Blaine, in the soft warmth of their naked bodies pressed together and the tingling electricity of Blaine sucking on his lower lip and moving his tongue slow and lovely.

"Mmmm," Blaine hums when they finally break apart. Kurt absently strokes his upper arm, tracing the outline of Blaine's triceps beneath the skin. "I couldn't do it either."

"Do what?" Kurt murmurs. Blaine sighs and turns his head so their faces are an inch apart.

"Go two months without touching you like this. Without being in the same room as you, without hearing you laugh right up close…without having the best sex in the whole world ever, I really could not wait through two months for that," Blaine finishes with a little smirk, and Kurt just has to smirk back and shift in closer so that their noses bump and he can feel Blaine's breath on his chin.

"I love you," he says softly, and Blaine's eyes soften a little. "You know that, right? No matter what happens here, no matter what kind of stuff goes on when we're apart, I'm always going to love you."

"I know…but it's okay if you don't," Blaine replies gently, and when Kurt opens his mouth to protest he shuts him up with a thumb against his lips. "I mean it. I want you, Kurt, and I want us to be together as long as it's right and it's good and it's what we _both_ want. But you know, you need to know, if there's someone else here—someone who feels righter, maybe, I don't know—if you want this to end, don't let it keep going when it's hurting you. Because then we're not being totally honest with each other, and if we can't be that, we shouldn't be anything." Blaine tries to sound confident, but Kurt can tell how much it costs him to say this. He knows what Blaine is putting himself through for Kurt's sake, and it makes him want to kiss the hell out of Blaine to show him how deeply Kurt cares for him, and so that's exactly what he does.

It starts out being about the feeling of it, the emotions moving back and forth between them, but after a good ten seconds the hormones start raging and Kurt can feel himself getting—well, excited. Blaine's rapid breathing and the way he rolls up against Kurt suggests he's heading the same way, and after a moment he moves up and over and settles down on top of Kurt, and their lower bodies are experiencing perfect friction and Kurt's stomach is beginning to fill with shaky sparks of pleasure. A moan forces its way through his lips without his permission, and a loud whimper quickly follows when Blaine leans his head down and begins to work Kurt's ear over with his mouth in the most unimaginably wonderful way. He grabs a handful of Blaine's hair and tries to form a coherent thought, except he really can't because Blaine's tongue feels so amazing on his earlobe and Blaine's hands feel even more amazing on his thigh and lower back and every part of him is beginning to shudder and ache and twitch with these incredibly good feelings and it's like torture, only he never wants it to stop.

It's not surprising that, given the mountain of distractions, Kurt doesn't notice the door opening and Caleb and Anna and Nathan all piling into the room and stopping in their tracks, frozen, staring at the display happening on top of Kurt's royal purple comforter.

"Wow," he suddenly hears, a bullet shattering the stained glass world he's floating through, and with a wild jolt of disoriented terror he looks to the side and sees his roommate and his two friends standing there, eyes wide, arms limp at their sides, Nathan's mouth slightly open, Caleb still clutching the room key in his hand. Blaine has gone completely and violently still—he too is looking at the new arrivals, and Kurt has a distant impression of Blaine's pulse pounding under his skin like an 8.9 on the Richter scale.

"Um…I…uh…" Caleb stutters, his floppy blonde hair falling over his face. Anna swallows once, reaches out and grabs hold of one of the sleeves of each boy's jacket.

"We'll be outside," she says shortly, and turning on her heel she drags the other two from the room so violently they both nearly fall over. She pulls the door shut with her foot, and only a long ten or twenty seconds after the latch clicks shut does Blaine suddenly scramble backwards off of Kurt, his eyes so wide they look as though they might fall out of his head. Kurt sits up and bites his lip, trying to feel anything other than horribly, totally numb.

"Oh my god." Blaine's voice is strangely casual, like he's remarking on Rachel's newest power trip or reacting to one of Santana's jibes. "Oh. My. God."

"It's okay," Kurt says, not really knowing what's coming out of his mouth but just trying to shock himself back to reality. Blaine is beginning to look less stunned and more panicked now; he's rocking back and forth a bit, hugging himself tightly around the stomach.

"Ooooooooh my god…Kurt, Kurt, that didn't, Jesus Christ, that _did_…" he whimpers, and buries his face in his hands. Something about Blaine's crazed eyes disappearing from sight brings Kurt back to earth a little bit, which is great, because now instead of numb disbelief he's experiencing crushing and devastating belief. _My friends just saw me and my boyfriend naked and rutting in bed together. My friends have seen me naked. My friends have seen Blaine naked. Something about this is wrong on the deepest of levels._

"Blaine," he says, trying to make some sense of this situation, but Blaine is still going full-fetal position and rocking on his heels and making weird gurgling noises, so to get his attention Kurt has to crawl forward and forcibly yank Blaine's face up so he can see his eyes. "Blaine, listen to me. It's okay. This isn't—everything's fine, I promise."

"Kurt…are you fucking serious?" Blaine asks with a desperate look on his face, and Kurt has to admit, if he were in Blaine's shoes, he's probably be even more flipped out.

"Look, they didn't mean to, it must have been a…a misunderstanding. Let's just get dressed and take a minute and then go out—"

"Out? _Out_? Kurt, you are going to have to drag me by the ankles out of this goddamn room, because I am never leaving here again until I _die_," Blaine says vehemently, and proceeds to bury himself under Kurt's comforter. Kurt sighs, rubs the bridge of his nose, then stands up and dresses himself slowly and carefully, knowing that Blaine is watching from beneath the squashy purple duvet, knowing that somewhere outside Caleb and Anna and Nathan are all unable to erase the image of Blaine and Kurt from their minds, and knowing that there is no way to make this situation anything but what it is, which is horrifically awkward and painful for everyone.

"Blaine?" he says cautiously when he's fully dressed. "Blaine, come on." The comforter stirs slightly. "It's fine, I promise."

"But…_Kurt_…" drifts out from underneath the purple bedding, and Kurt would laugh if he didn't feel a little like barfing. With one swift motion, he reaches down and whips the comforter off the bed so that Blaine is exposed, naked and curled up like a scared kitten, on the mattress. Blaine instinctively winces against the cold and throws Kurt the dirtiest of dirty looks—and not the sexy kind either.

"If I've got to live with them, and I do, then we've both got to man up and _deal_," he says sharply, letting the comforter drop to the ground. Blaine groans and shakes his head.

"Kurt, I can't, they—"

"You can and you will." Kurt takes a deep breath and plays the one card he knows is unfair and cheap and will definitely work, the card he only played once before when Blaine was flat-out refusing to let Kurt do his hair as faux-dreads. "If you love me, you'll do it."

Blaine's head snaps up again and he stares at Kurt for god knows how long—_one Judy Garland, two Judy Garland, three scary boyfriend, four scary boyfriend—_before rolling out of bed and pulling on his clothes with such vicious intensity that Kurt pretends to be tidying up the bed so that he can turn his back and avoid the death glares hitting him in the skull.

They find everyone squatting at the end of the hall, Molly and Ty having joined the Intruders. They're all talking at normal volume, but the second Blaine and Kurt round the corner, everyone suddenly goes dead silent. Caleb blushes dark red and stares at the ground; Nathan looks directly upwards like he's trying to find a spider on the ceiling; Molly coughs and examines her fingernails; only Anna and Ty stare at the two boys with the smuggest of barely concealed grins on their faces. Kurt stands resolute, Blaine's hand imprisoned in his iron grip, determined to face this challenge with courage and honor.

"Hey, guys," he says brightly, walking towards them and dragging a very reluctant Blaine behind him. They come to a stop right in front of Anna, who's sitting on the ground, and Blaine tries to hide behind Kurt but Kurt jerks him back to his side and smiles with pure animal aggression at his friends, daring someone to make a comment or roll an eye. Everyone is looking at them now, but no one except Anna is making eye contact. Suddenly she stands, her long brown braid bouncing against her back as she positions herself squarely in front of Blaine and offers him her hand.

"Hi, I'm Anna," she chirps, and Kurt doesn't know if he wants to kill her or hug her as Blaine slowly and warily takes her hand (with his left hand, because Kurt will let go of his right when hell freezes over) for a hearty shake. Anna grins at him and flicks her head so that the braid swings up and down behind her like a pendulum. "You must be Blaine, nice to meet you."

"N-nice to meet you too," says Blaine with only a small hesitation, and Kurt can feel him relaxing a little, and maybe, just maybe they can all forget this ever happened and he can introduce Blaine to his friends normally and everything will be cool.

"Kurt's told us a lot about you," Anna says, a wicked gleam in her eye, and suddenly Kurt doesn't feel so hopeful. "Although I'm disappointed. Apparently, he was lying about the banana tattoo on your ass."

Blaine turns beet-red and Ty breaks out into hysterical giggles and even Molly and Nathan can't stop themselves from smiling, and Kurt gives a giant groan and shoves Anna backwards, giving her a bitch-please look as she winks at him and then at Blaine, and right then and there Blaine winks back, even while his cheeks are still maroon. Anna's face lights up and Kurt is really really proud of Blaine and really really pissed at his friend and he still loves them both, which is what makes the next few minutes of introductions ("This is Ty, and Molly, and Nathan, and Caleb, my roommate, and Anna, my whorefaced bitchlet") and explanations ("Kurt, I'm so frigging sorry, I was just getting back from the gym and Anna and Nathan wanted to see if you were up for getting food and I totally forgot, I'm really sorry") and negotiations ("If you guys come eat with us now we all promise not to picture your sweet sexy-times in our heads every time you take a bite of your hot dogs." "Anna!" "Fine, Nathan can picture you if he really wants to." "_ANNA!_") at least a little bearable.

They finally all decide to head down to the cafeteria and get some food, and Caleb leads the way as they all move towards the elevator, Blaine responding pleasantly and energetically to all the grilling he's getting from Ty, who's gay, and Molly, who's Jewish, the two cultural experts in the field of interrogation. Kurt still has to fight the urge to crawl in the nearest potted plant, but as he looks at Blaine—who flew miles and miles to see him, who loves him more than he loves his own dignity, who wiped away all of Kurt's insecurities and fears with a single lopsided smile—as he looks at Blaine talking to his friends, a feeling curls up deep inside him, a supremely peaceful sensation that he's never felt in New York before.

Kurt feels safe.


End file.
